


Galaxy's Oldest Profession

by BountyHuntress16



Series: The Galaxy Series [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BountyHuntress16/pseuds/BountyHuntress16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mass Effect Kink Meme fill. Alternate Universe. If you want to survive on Omega, you only look out for yourself. And yet Shepard, a smart-mouthed hooker with a mean punch and decent aim, finds herself drawn into Garrus Vakarian's mission to bring justice to her home and the gangs who overrun it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is a fill for a prompt on the Mass Effect Kink Meme. The original prompt is this: 
> 
> “Shepard is a hooker on Omega with a smart mouth and a mean right hook. Let’s say she meets Garrus (the failed C-sec agent) on his first night on Omega, finds his view of the world a bit naïve, but finds him all the more interesting for it, especially when she figures out his true intentions. Things progress and she feeds him intel (because being a hooker usually means knowing the inner-workings of Omega’s dark underworld)…and for the sake of teh fluffs, let’s say she’s the one that names him ‘Archangel’.
> 
> Also, Zaeed is her pimp of sorts who drinks too much and goes on about his work as a merc for far longer than anyone cares to listen but deep down is a cool guy who shares a mutual respect with Shepard and lets her do whatever the hell she wants. So there you go. Make it plenty kinky, I imagine Shepard with a decent variety of 'clientele'...but ultimately Garrus/F!Shep :D”
> 
> I was pretty petrified of the prompt when I first saw it but also super intrigued. I'm really glad I tackled it though. What I ended up with makes me pretty happy.
> 
> The fill is up on the kink meme and fanfiction.net. And now that I have ao3, it has come here. Hurrah!

Batarians are the worst clients. Most of them despise Humans for “dirtying up their universe.” Their prophet in the market likes to look straight at her when he’s decrying her species to the crowd. Yet he and plenty of his kind hire her. Hate Humans, still crave her sweet human pussy. 

Half of her Batarian clients make Shepard lie on her stomach for a quick rut, barely touching her. The others like to pay double so they can humiliate her. Punish her for making them want her. There are plenty of Human hookers on Omega but she’s got a certain reputation for being able to take the rough stuff.

The first kind is better. Zaeed had assured her the client was that type. Well, clients. There are three waiting for her.

Three clients at once is a lot of money. Long as they all want to get it done and over with, then it will go smoothly. She can take it.

Shepard knocks on the apartment door. Her long black coat makes her look like a regular citizen. Not that anyone on Omega cares if you’re hiring hookers. Unless you’re a Batarian hiding a Human fetish.

One Batarian answers the door and urges her inside. Shepard takes a look at the surroundings, rolling her shoulders. Someone has pushed a sickly green couch to the side and dragged a mattress to the center of the main room. A door is on the opposite wall, probably to a bed and bath.

“Zaeed received your credits,” she tells the fidgeting Batarian. “I’m clean and took a full cocktail of the antibiotics and antihistamines. You’re free to scan me.” She opens her coat to reveal her short, tight dress. “Anything that goes in me wears a condom. I’ll provide them. Where are your friends?”

The Batarian sidles to the front door and locks it. It’s to keep the goings-on private but Shepard still hates the definitive click sound.

Or she thought it was for privacy. Until the bedroom door opens and two Vorcha step out.

Shit. “You said three Batarians.”

“Does it matter?” The Batarian folds his arms.  “You wouldn’t have accepted otherwise.”

“For good reason.” Shepard glances at the Vorcha as one licks his lips. Fucking charming. “I’ll do just you and refund what they cost. Or walk out and give you a full refund. But I’m not getting mauled.”

The Batarian’s a quick bastard. He backs Shepard into the wall, his hand digging into her upper thigh. “You’ll do what you’re paid for.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’ve got two seconds to let me go.”

“Or what?”

Shepard swings up her right fist to hook him in the temple. He staggers left, dazed. The opening lets her get the ever-loving fuck out of there. Thank God the lock is a quick twist to disengage.

The two Vorcha are on her heels. She doesn’t call for help. You can scream all you want on Omega, no one’s ever gonna come rescue you.

Shepard knows what the Vorcha will do to her if she falters. She’d made some dumb mistakes with her first Johns, a stupid kid looking for a score and some vengeance. But she’d been smart enough to memorize Omega’s streets by the time she was ten.

The Vorcha stay on her. They’re dumb but they’ve got fast legs and sensitive noses. Shepard ducks into an alley with trashcans and knocks them down behind her. The rancid odor might throw them off.

“Come back!” One squawks as he navigates the wreckage. “Come back soft human!”

Hell. At least they don’t know her name. 

Shepard’s learned to run and evade when she can. Too many casualties mean fewer clients. Get your body count really high and Aria herself calls you to her office. But these Vorcha are persistent and enough is enough. She reaches into her bra for the palm-sized gun. Whips around as one of her pursuers reaches for her neck.  Shepard pulls the trigger.

The flash and recoil numb her senses a moment. When the static clears, there’s a fist-sized hole where the Vorcha’s heart should be. He collapses.

She snarls to his friend. “If you don’t want some of that then get the hell away from me.”

Vorcha have one survival instinct: to breed like crazy before their other shit instincts kill them. The second Vorcha lunges for her. She cocks the gun-

-and before she can fire, the Vorcha’s head explodes. The body collapses onto his associate’s, twitching.

“Shee-it!” Shepard gets her back to a wall and looks around for the assailant. Could be a rescuer but could just be a bigger, tougher monster that wants her for prey.

“Are you alright Miss?” A figure drops down from the ledge of an apartment structure. It’s a Turian with a big, beautiful sniper rifle and a visor clicking over his left eye.

“I’m fine,” she says. Turians in groups mean Blue Suns. Lone ones usually mean C-SEC or Turian military thinking they can bring the law into the Terminus Systems. They don’t come for pleasure—the law-abiding Turians like to go to Illium to pay for sex.

Shame, because she thinks Turians are attractive. This one isn’t bad at all. “That was a good shot.”

“Same to you.” He glances down at her tiny gun. “I thought those were illegal.”

Shepard cocks an eyebrow. “You’re on Omega. Nothing’s illegal. C-SEC?”

“Ah…former.” The news makes Shepard relax a fraction. “I came hoping to do some good here. Not that you want me to bore you with my life story.”

“Depends on the story.” Worse than C-SEC or Turian military. This is a damned vigilante-wannabe. Unless those Good Samaritan missionaries Earth sends every few years have started recruiting Turians to their church. “Well, good luck with that. Thanks.”

“Do you want an escort?” He stares at her knees. Probably wondering what she was doing out dressed up and in the alley. Probably has locked up a few of her Citadel colleagues during his C-SEC time. 

“Nah, I’m not in the market for a Guardian Angel.” She puts the safety on her gun and tucks it back into her bra. “See you around.”

“Right,” he nods. “Be safe.”

Shepard snorts and walks away, feeling his eyes on her. Her hips sway a little for his benefit.

* * *

Zaeed Massani and Shepard have an agreement. For a cut of her profits, he provides the meds and condoms to keep her clean; supplies weapons; tells long stories about the days he led the Blue Suns; and vets her clients before she does them.

She is not happy with his job performance in the last area. 

“Fuck, Zaeed!” She picks an empty beer can off the floor and throws it at him. He jerks out of the way and it clatters to the ground. “There were Vorcha there! Two fucking Vorcha!”

“So I made a bad call,” says Zaeed. “I apologized. What more do you want?”

“Groveling would be nice.” Shepard thrusts her finger into Zaeed’s clavicle. “And do a better job next time or else.”

“Or else what, Girlie?” Zaeed slaps her hand away. “It wasn’t on purpose. Move on.”

Shepard meets his glare. “I will if you take responsibility for your goddamn actions.”

He spits on the ground. She wrinkles her nose at the white blob on their filthy floor. “You shoulda been a Merc commander, the way you shout orders.”

“Don’t even start that.” She’s seen those Mercs in action, killing people she’d been dumb enough to care about. Zaeed is ex-Merc, removed enough from the job to be tolerable and distant enough from her to keep things civil.

Yeah, she would have been a great Merc. If she didn’t hate them. And Alliance military doesn’t want Omega trash for soldiers. She’s in the right field. 

“Just be careful next time,” Shepard sighs. “Did we refund them?”

“No.” Zaeed settles into his armchair in the main room of the apartment they share. It creaks beneath the weight of his armor. He hasn’t had a job for weeks outside of pimping her but he wears the armor like coveralls. “If he’s got a problem with that, I’ll show him the business end of my gun.”

“Good. You do that.” Reassured, Shepard turns in for the night. Lies in bed and wonders how long the Turian will last.

She gives him a day.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, Shepard services Harrot the Elcor. His voice is painful enough, but not the worst part. The Elcor dick is bigger than a Krogan’s. Enough to make her tear and bleed like a virgin as she straddles it, rocking against the head. She bites her lip at each movement, making the appropriate moans.

After a certain point, the pain merges with faint, faint pleasure. The sounds become a little more genuine. But the most genuine sound of all is the disgusted noise she can’t stop when he comes. It is a fucking mess. Shepard dismounts, wincing at the pain and the state of her dress.

“Apathetic. Clean yourself up.” He tells her and leaves the bedroom. She mutters thanks to Zaeed for the medi-gels he gives her. They take care of the worst ruptures. Still hurts like hell. Once she can walk, she gets out of there. 

Harrot lives in a nice-ish area. Nothing as good as what the Asari live in. Good enough that she doesn’t start looking over her shoulder till she passes back into her part of the station. After all these years, the shadows still get more sinister in the back streets.

An injured person on Omega is like a wounded pyjack. A predator always appears to pick it off. Shepard maintains a slow pace in the dark alleyways to keep from betraying her limp. It’s a waste—she hears footsteps behind her. Fists curled, she whips around to face the would-be attacker.

It’s the Turian.

“Well shit. You’re still alive.”

He’s got humor enough to chuckle. “I’m flattered I think? Ah…are you alright?”

“Fine,” she says. Then, to test him, “Tough night of work. You know how it is.”

“I have an idea.” The Turian closes the space between him. He’s tall like other Turians but he’s got that innocent look about him. It’s evident in the open posture and the solicitous hand he puts on her arm. The touch makes her jump. “This is probably intrusive and nosy, but I could carry you. If you want. No pressure.”

“Yeah, little intrusive.” The last thing she needs is to be seen carried by the naïve vigilante. “You can sit with me for a bit.” She eases herself against the alley wall and onto the ground. “No charge.”

He lifts the ridges over his eyes.

“That was a joke. We hookers tell ‘em every so often.”

“I…knew that.” He sits beside her. “That it was a joke. Not that…well anyway, I’m Garrus.”

“Shepard,” she says. His flustered demeanor is a little cute. Just a little. “Garrus is a good name. Not a good vigilante title though.”

His mandibles flare. “Who said I was a vigilate?" 

“You kinda scream it.” She motions to the gleaming sniper rifle. It’s better-looking than most of her clients.

He laughs again, the noise so soft that it sounds like a purr in his rumbling voice. “So what would you suggest for my title then?”

It’s the second time he’s popped up like the Guardian Angel she mentioned. “Angel” isn’t an intimidating moniker though. More like the probable name of a human stripper in Afterlife.

She remembers one of those Earth missionaries being really into stories about angels. Some days she would go to the Mission just to hear him weave tales (and for the free food). There was one...about the end of the world and a head angel bringing justice. Or maybe that was the one about the Virgin and the baby. She can’t remember where the word itself came from, just that it’s kinda badass.

“Archangel,” she tells him.

“Archangel,” he repeats. “It doesn’t translate very well. A leader spirit?”

“Leader angel. He leads other angels and brings down justice and righteousness.” That part’s a little improvised. He’ll probably never find out the difference. The Mission lasted a month before the Batarians torched it and the survivors fled Omega.

“Archangel. I could like that.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

“Another joke?” He glances at her.

“No,” she stands, punching his shoulder on the way up. He flinches like it hurts through the blue armor. “If I don’t hear the name Archangel whispered in the streets, I’ll be pissed and kick your ass. Got it?”

Garrus stands too and salutes. “Orders received, Shepard. It’s a promise.”

* * *

Shepard has a biweekly appointment with an Asari commando associated with Eclipse. She’d rather not service the Mercs but she’d also rather not service an Elcor either. Money’s got to be made. The best she can do is refuse Blood Pack and make sure the few good ones want to be regulars.

The Asari, a matriach named Kela, likes to put Shepard over her knee and spank her. Sometimes she gets Shepard off, sometimes Shepard gets her off. The sex doesn’t matter to Kela as much as putting on her leathers and slapping the hooker’s ass raw. 

Most times she’s considerate enough to let Shepard lie down after, letting the medi-gels soothe the stinging flesh. This night though, after the session, she takes Shepard’s meds from her and tells her to balance on her hands and knees. Her dress is still bunched up around her waist, ass hanging out in the cold.

“Don’t move till I tell you,” Kela commands and strides out of the room. Shepard knows people who get off from being submissive. Not her. At least Kela knows her well enough that she doesn’t care when Shepard slips and tells her to fuck off.

It’s tempting to do it now as she stays still on Kela’s clean, chrome floor. There are hookers on Omega better at the submissive play. She’s not sure why Kela keeps hiring her. Other than her talent for taking hard smacks to the ass. It isn’t hers to question. Just to service and collect.

“Damnit!” She hears Kela from the other room. “We need to get him out of here before he stirs up more trouble.”

Shepard strains to listen. Kela’s got the comm. link turned down low. The other person’s voice is too soft.

“Archangel already has two lackeys. Run them out or kill them before they do some actual damage.”

“I’ll be damned,” Shepard mutters.

Kela reemerges, medi-gels in hand. Shepard sighs, ready for the session to be over with. As if reading her thoughts, Kela quashes the hope by bringing her hand down on Shepard’s backside. “Were you eavesdropping?”

“No,” Shepard hisses. It’s worse when the skin is already burning from the past half hour.

“Are you lying to me?” The hand comes down again.

“No!” 

She works her fingers into Shepard and keeps up the interrogation. If she really thought Shepard a threat, Kela wouldn’t be bringing her to orgasm. Shepard still refuses to admit anything, even to play along. She’s seen Kela’s gun collection.

Shepard won’t say she prefers a certain species for a client. But she will say that at least the Asari know where the clitoris is.

* * *

 

After the session with Kela, Shepard takes a detour to Afterlife. The bouncer’s one of her clients; a Batarian who spends more time washing himself before and after sex with her than actually having sex with her. He lets her pass without meeting her eyes. 

The club’s lower level is more to her taste. The upper is for transients and newcomers. Tourists, if Omega has such a thing. She's making for the stairs when one of the newcomers leaning at the bar catches her eye.

Shepard moves to him, noticing a Batarian and a Turian hovering close. The lackeys Kela mentioned.  She raises her voice over the din and taps his shoulder. “Buy you a drink?”

His lackeys tense, ready to drive her off. Maybe they should. It’s pretty stupid to befriend a wannabe-vigilante. She hopes he has the sense to go helmeted when bringing justice or he’s not going to make it out of Afterlife alive.

“Shepard!” He relaxes as he looks her over. “Good to see you.”

“What’s a nice Turian like you doing in a place like this?” She puts a hand on her cocked hip, grinning at the cheesy line.

“Oh you know, got called to…talk to someone.” His eyes flicker to where Aria T’loak holds court above the main floor. Shepard’s not surprised. Aria doles out reminders to anyone she thinks is getting ambitious.

“Did it go well?” She leans in so she can stop shouting. “Did she tell you Omega’s one rule?”

“Oh yes, she did.” Garrus nods and steps in closer. They’ve earned the steady concentration of both his lackeys with their bodies an inch apart and Garrus’ mouth by her ear. “She’s got nothing to worry about from me. I know an Omega without Aria is a whole lot worse than an Omega with her.”

“Also,” she says, shivering at the low voice so close. “She would end you.”

“So you’ve met her?”

“Not yet.” Shepard steps back from his proximity. Zaeed had plenty of times and he always related the stories with great embellishment. “But I will once I get a nice enough body count.”

“Joke?”

“Maybe. You want that drink?” Shepard steps around him to place her elbows on the counter. The dress hitches up her thighs as she leans forward. “I’ll buy for your friends too.”

Garrus glances at his lackeys. “Sidonis? Erash?”

The Batarian, Erash, declines. He’s fixing a look at Shepard that’s half-suspicion, half-disgust. Sidonis mirrors Garrus’ Turian smile and accepts the dextro cocktail. He’s genial and handsome enough. Shepard just finds Garrus more compelling as he shifts from sweet to shy to intense to humorous. If she was just a girl looking to be picked up, she could do a lot worse. Shame things aren’t that simple.

“I heard your name whispered today,” she tells him. “Your _other_ name.”

“Yeah?” Garrus looked pleased. She’ll have to find out what he’s been up to. “Guess this mean you won’t have to kick my ass.”

“Give it time,” she chuckles.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Archangel’s name changes from a whisper to a murmur. He recruits more to his cause: ex-Mercs, ex-C-SEC, ex-military (ex-STG, according to some rumors.) Some say he’s got a band of seven, others swear it’s twenty. Shepard knows the exact number but she keeps her mouth shut.

With his notoriety growing, she runs into him less. He is smart enough to go on his missions helmeted but Mercs are still wary of any unaffiliated Turian. When he does pop up, it’s on her walks home when she’s passing through the quieter areas. It happens two or three times a week, enough to make her wary. She asks if he’s watching her.

“I am right now,” he says, turning his blue eyes on her. 

Shepard gives him a shove. He stumbles close to a trash can, catching his balance at the last second. “Be serious,” she tells him. “Look, I don’t need a savior or anything.”

He’s quiet. Garrus likes those long pauses to think over his responses. “I want to help you, Shepard.”

“Help me from what?” She stops, crossing her arms. “Tell me.”

“I would but…I think it will piss you off.”

“Then I’ll say it.” Shepard tilts her chin up to face him. “I’m a whore so obviously I need your help.”

“You’re injured all the time.” He touches her arm, his claw curling by the crook of her elbow.

“That’s my job. My shtick. You want to fuck a human but think they’ll break? Call Shepard.” She pushes his hand off. He takes a very wise step away from her. “I’ve got enough medical connections to do this for a long time.”

“Do you want to though?”

He looks so concerned that she could regret being angry. Could, but won’t. This isn’t the type of bull she’ll put up with from would-be friends. “No one’s forcing me. No one sold me into this. I’m just a professional who’s damn good at her job.”

Garrus is quiet again. He sighs. “Okay. Look, I’ve seen a lot of girls pushed into this so I assumed-…but I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Shepard lets the anger fall away. He looks properly contrite. She reaches over and pats his arm. “Look, if you want to help you’ll just be my friend. Those are…nice to have.”

“I can do that.” He covers her hand with his. “You know, you’re good at a lot of things.”

She snorts. “Well, two things. Sex and putting a hole through a Vorcha.”

“Both are talents. And I’ve seen you punch. Felt it too.” He keeps her hand trapped between his claw and arm. The gesture is intimate enough that Shepard’s fighting a blush. “You ever want to join my team, there’s a spot open.”

Oh hell. “I’ll pass for now.” She’s not a trained fighter. She’d be dead pretty quick in his gang.

He lets go. “Alright. Thought I’d ask.”

“I’m flattered you think I’d last with the kind of shit you guys get into.” She won’t lie to herself; the prospect’s appealing. Hell, if she’d followed Zaeed’s advice all those years ago and became a Merc (and survived), maybe she’d be saying yes. When Garrus isn’t being an idiot she likes him and what he stands for. Fatal as it will be for him.

“You could,” he says with a shrug. “They say not to fuck with Aria? Well they should say ‘Don’t fuck with Shepard.’”

Shepard pushes back the guffaw in her throat. “You don’t want to fuck with me?”

“No way. I’ve seen you take a Vorcha down. And blow him up as you do it.”

She presses a hand to her fist, smothering her laughter. Garrus groans as recognition comes, pressing a hand to his face. “That just went somewhere awful.”

Shepard pats his shoulder. “You’re lucky you make me laugh. Or I’d be offended.”

“I’m not even going to talk the rest of the night. Just so I don’t say anything else stupid.” He peeks at her between his fingers. “I will be _hard_ not to.”

“That…that was terrible.”

“That’s why you keep me around,” he laughs.

* * *

Garrus—or rather, Archangel—has a secret base. But he’s not secretive enough about it because one night, he offers to bring her to it.

“That’s a bad idea,” she says. “I have Merc clients. I could betray you just for a big payout or to save my life if they figured out we were friends.”

His gaze is steady as he looks at her. Omega’s done a number on him but with her, his body posture is still open. Vulnerable. “I trust you, Shepard.”

She’d like to punch him for making her insides twist around at that. For still being so goddamned naïve. Shepard knows she will never betray this Turian willingly but there are plenty on Omega who don’t care about consent.

He insists until she relents, worn down by curiosity and flattery. Besides, her other off-hour options are going to a bar or going home to sleep. A secret base is a lot more appealing.

They pass close to Blue Suns territory. So close that she gives him a whack on the shoulder for recklessness. Though it’s sort of brilliant; his team has a Batarian, Turians and Humans. Excepting the Salarian member, they could pass as Suns.

He brings her to a block of apartments. Pretty indistinguishable from the blocks and blocks of apartments that make up most of Omega. His three fingers cup her elbow and he gestures to a wall. She squints at it, making out the vague outline of a door.

Next comes a series of narrow passages and doors tucked away into corners and inside smaller rooms. It’s dizzying, the roundabout way of getting to the location. They come to a final tiny corridor and a final door, guarded by two of Garrus’ Human squadmates. Both greet Garrus, casting suspicious looks at Shepard. They pass on by without stopping to talk.

The space is huge. It must be the entire floor of one of the apartment buildings. She’s too disoriented to know which one or how high up they are. There are small windows high up on the walls with a little nook for someone to look out of. Erash the Batarian is there now.

Crates and boxes of all kinds are stacked up high to partition the space into rooms. Probably for bedrooms. There’s one big common space that they’re walking into that contains five squad members who stare at them.

“I had a feeling guests weren’t encouraged.” Shepard mutters and Garrus laughs in response. The five men continue watching her. She ignores them, shoving hands into her pockets.

They settle a little when Garrus goes over to them. Shepard’s curious about their conversation but stays put, feigning indifference. These kind of situations, it’s best not to eavesdrop in plain sight. Especially when you can’t hear your targets much anyway.

Garrus goes into one of the partitioned spaces and comes back with a case. At her cocked eyebrow he motions to a set of stairs in the far right corner. She follows, waving to the men as they pass. One of the Turians waves back and she recognizes him. Sidonis.

The floor above is bare except for a makeshift shooting range. That part surprises a laugh out of her. Shepard goes over to the sloppily painted targets, examining the set-up.

“Garrus, are you challenging me to a shooting contest?”

“Please.” He opens the case and retrieves a pistol. “We both know I’m the better shot. I just thought you’d like to learn a thing or two from the master.”

“Yeah?” Shepard folds her arms and smirks. “We’ll just see about that.”

Garrus hands her the pistol. It’s seen better days and plenty of use but it has a nice heft in her hand. She remembers holding a similar gun while Zaeed drilled her in disassembling and reassembling a firearm. That had been a condition of his agreeing to be her business associate. He’d insisted she learn her way around a gun in case an appointment went bad. “It’s got paint clips inside. I save the ammo for the real thing.”

“About that,” she says as she checks the chamber. “You know I had a cancellation yesterday? Someone blew my client’s head off with one perfect shot.”

He tries not to look pleased at the compliment and fails. So she fires a round at his heart. The neon pink paint splatters across his chestplate as he staggers back.

“Damnit Shepard,” he rubs at the mess. “I didn’t know he was one of yours. Wendell was a dangerous smuggler.”

“Smuggling?” She frowns. “That’s the kind of ‘evil’ you’re going after? Where does prostitution fall on your scale then?”

“It doesn’t unless its some bastard forcing people into it.” Garrus frowns. “Wendell wasn’t a good guy alright? He was bringing in shoddy weapons to sell them to brash kids ready to join in the fighting. Targeting them. And that’s only a sample of his bad deeds.”

She knows the kind of brash kids he’s talking about. A decade ago, she was one of them. Maybe he’d been right to kill Wendell. Hell, she doesn’t know. It‘s easier to think of him bringing justice in the abstract or when it targets known slavers and drug brokers.

She wants to believe in Garrus’ judgment. That he’d only take down the ones that deserved it. After grumbling over his naïveté…maybe she’s the gullible one.

Instead of thinking about it more or saying something to him, Shepard turns to the targets and starts firing. He plays along, taking his turn when she has to reload. His aim is precise. Perfect, really. She’s got a lot of catching up to if she decides she wants to match his skills.

What she really wants is try out that beautiful sniper rifle. Zaeed’s got one like it but he’s only let her try it once. Shepard doesn’t dare ask Garrus. It’s clearly his baby. And she doesn’t feel like talking till they take a break rounds later. When she does talk, it’s to ask why he left C-SEC.

Maybe she can get a better understanding of him. Reassure herself.

“It started when I was investigating a rogue Spectre. Saren.” Shepard recognizes the name, nods for him to continue. “I found an opportunity to take him down. With the first Human Spectre, Commander Williams.”

That’s another name she recognizes. A name every Human, even the ones apathetic to politics like her, knows. “Ho shit,” she whispers.

She gets invested in the story as he relates how they beat Sovereign and saved the Citadel at the cost of the Council. There’s a keen sense of shock when the story ends weeks after that victory, when Williams was spaced on a routine patrol.

She’d forgotten that part as Garrus wove the events for her. It comes back then, the odd sense of sorrow at the news of Williams’ death. Shepard is self-centered in the Omega way, where the best means of survival is minding your own damned business. Yet the death of Humanity’s hero had affected her and other Humans on Omega, like some part of their collective soul had died.

Shepard tells her story in return. How she’d been an orphan on Omega, running around with a group of other street urchins. Surviving together until they’d run into a meaner pocket of the Blood Pack. Shepard had been the sole survivor.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s an old story here,” she replies.

Not wanting to be a Merc after watching the Blood Pack massacre her only family and having no talents but a smart mouth, a mean right hook and a knack for enduring; she’d decided to live off her body.

She tells him about her first clients. With a twisted notion of justice she had let two Vorcha hire her. The plan had been to lure them into complacency and then kill them. For closure before she became a real professional.

Zaeed Massani had extracted the sixteen year-old before she died, killing the two Vorcha as they mauled her. She still doesn’t know why. The former Merc lives his days taking on the odd mission and plotting his eventual revenge against Blue Suns leader Vido Santiago. He doesn’t give a shit about anything else. Shepard has reasons to believe that he’d once had a kid her age but no concrete proof and no motive to confront him about it.

Once she recovered, he’d offered to get her a job as a Merc. Even offered to teach her the ins and outs of shooting a gun. Shepard had accepted the weapon tutorials but refused the job offers: she had decided on this profession and was going to be damned good at it. He didn’t kick her out of his apartment and as time went on he became more involved in her career.

“Ten years later, here I am.” She sighs and looks down at her gun. “Want to go a few more rounds for the tiebreaker?”

“What tiebreaker?” Garrus asks. He’s good at accepting these subject changes. “I’m winning.”

“For now.” The pistol feels good in her hands. Each clip eases the feelings conjured from dredging up memories. Especially when she pictures the targets as Vorcha.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Mass Effect but man do I wish I did

Zaeed thrusts a datapad at her when she comes home. “Get a nap and then clean up. You’ve got the client of your life tonight.”

If it wasn’t on the screen before her, she wouldn’t have believed it. Aria T’loak is paying a huge fucking sum for her company.

“She wants you to do her pet Krogan while she watches. He’s not Blood Pack.” Zaeed folds his arms. “The hell did you do to get Aria’s attention?”

“Kill some Vorcha?” Become friends with Archangel? Nothing happens without Aria’s notice. She’s just glad that Aria has no need to narc on Garrus to any of the Mercs gangs. He’s unintentionally keeping them in line for her.

Taking Zaeed’s advice, Shepard collapses onto her bed and sleeps. There’s not much difference between night and day in this hollowed out asteroid besides the clocks reading am or pm. Life goes by those two little letters anyway. “Day” is quieter, “night” is when things pick up and she goes to work.

At 4:00 pm she rises and takes a scalding hot shower to wake up. Breakfast is a nutritious protein block cut into cubes and covered with a canned tomato-ish sauce. Even with the money she brings in, it’s tough to get fresh food on Omega. She supplements with a cocktail of vitamins and fortified, ultra-preserved juice.

Shepard slips into one of her black dresses and coats on some mascara. A touch of pink to the lips; a round of antibiotics and antihistamines; and she is ready.

At Afterlife, the bouncer hands her off to a security guard who hands her off to a scarier security guard who leads her in to a hallway she didn’t know existed. Shepard pays half-attention to where they’re going. The rest of her is focused on recalling what she knows about Patriarch.

That has to be who the pet Krogan is. If you know nothing else about Patriarch, you know Aria overthrew him and took his place as head of Omega. A living reminder of _why you do not fuck with Aria_. According to Zaeed, even Shepard wasn’t getting that privilege.

They end up at a really, really nice room after three security checkpoints and passing through an equally swanky common room. Chrome and silver everywhere. A cushy bed on a raised platform. Holographic window showing the nighttime view of a gleaming city. Probably Ilium.

Oh, and an old Krogan grinning by the bed. And Aria T’Loak reclining in an armchair on the opposite side of the bedroom, studying a datapad.

The Asari lifts her eyes to the guards and they scurry the hell outta there. Shepard has never gotten a plain answer why people who meet Aria are so frightened. She understands only when Aria’s cold eyes settle on her.

“Shepard?” Aria asks, examining her.

“Yeah,” says Shepard, lifting her chin. The assessing glance directed at her triggers a jolt of defiance, smothering the fear. She recites the litany aloud about meds and condoms.

Aria looks bored. “Zaeed thinks you can handle my friend here. Can you?”

With what Aria’s paying, Shepard will handle anything. “Yeah, I can handle it.”

“All yours, Patriarch.”

Patriarch yanks Shepard to him, his enthusiasm making Aria’s indifference more apparent. Why pay to watch if it’s not going to excite you? His claws scrape as they hitch her dress up to her hips and push her to lie on her back, feet still planted on the ground. Krogans are always eager to get to it since the Genophage taught them to view sex as a scarcity.

It becomes apparent why Aria is unaroused. Patriarchs cock emerges limp, his ball wrinkled. Only one. There’s a scar where someone cut off the other. She has a good guess who. Shepard darts a glance at Aria who has one eye on them, one on her datapad. The slight smirk on her lips clarifies Shepard’s suspicions.

That asshole. Shepard’s been humiliated before, but that was to get a client off. Nothing personal. No one’s ever humiliated her for the sake of humiliating her (and her client). Scowling, Shepard reaches out to stroke Patriarch’s member.

He groans and digs his claws into the edge of the bed. Not her, thankfully. She cups her hands around him. It doesn’t do much but it’s less…limp. The Krogan takes this as some sign and pushes into her. Shepard is still dry and his thighs chafe against her legs but she turns her yelp into a moan.

Aria glances up and Shepard meets her gaze, eyes slightly narrowed. Patriarch focuses on his half-useless rutting, not caring where his bed partner is looking. So Shepard holds the Asari’s gaze and keeps up the moans, each louder and more ecstatic than the last.

It’ll get her killed but it’s the most satisfying way she’s ever said, “fuck you” to someone.

Three terse minutes pass and Patriarch is no closer, despite Shepard helping him along with her hands. She sucks in a deep breath, ready to fake orgasm when Aria stands. She strides over and yanks the Krogan out of Shepard.

“You’re leaving her unsatisfied,” Aria says to Patriarch’s growl.

“She didn’t sound unsatisfied…”

“Because she’s a professional. Pro-fess-ion-al.” Aria enunciates as if speaking to a small child. She slips her hand between Shepard’s thighs and finds the bundle of nerves Patriarch is ignorant of.

One thing you can say about the Asari: at least they know where the clitoris is.

Shepard locks her jaw, refusing to respond. Aria curls her lips and continues working her. It feels really, really damn good and her body is betraying her by becoming slick and flush. Still she remains quiet, not wanting Aria to have the satisfaction. The orgasm breaks over her and Shepard shakes with the effort of keeping tense, unresponsive.

Aria’s eyes flash. With anger. With annoyance. And with interest. She licks her fingers.

“You know,” says Shepard. “Since you went from voyeur to participant, that’ll cost you extra.”

“Of course it does.” Aria steps away. “Now that you’ve gotten off, you’ll get on your knees and give him the same pleasure.”

“That’s another fee.” Shepard slides down to the floor, pulling her dress down. “And you? Want me to fuck with Aria?”

Aria twists her hand into Shepards hair and yanks her head back. Shepard hisses in pain, forced to meet the cold gaze. “Don’t get cute. Now put that smart mouth to work or you won’t get paid at all.”

Fuck. She is not kidding. Aria shoves her down as she lets go. Shepard sees red and forces herself to take a few long breaths. She likes living. And Patriarch deserves a little gift, since he’s a fellow target of Aria’s humiliation.

She doesn’t mind giving blow jobs most times. Hell, sometimes it’s sexy to see a male lose control when her mouth is around him. Krogans are tougher though, with even the half-impotent ones having heads that barely fit her mouth. She lathes what she can with her tongue, letting her hands do the rest. Pumping him. Stroking his remaining ball. When Patriarch does come, her jaw, neck and knees are sore from the long procedure. He grabs her shoulders and yanks her up.

“Good girl,” he grins, jerking her close against him. “How about a kiss?”

She holds up a hand. “Off limits.”

“Paid for you didn’t I?” The pity she felt for him evaporates as his claws puncture her dress and skin. He leans in close. “I should get a little bonus.”

She reacts in the only way you can reprimand a Krogan: she headbutts him.

Patriarch is stunned enough to let go, pulling his claws out of her. Shepard is dazed and unsure if she really did just hear Aria laugh. Vision blurred, she stumbles to her coat. Grabs it, looks at Aria. “I’ll be sending you the additional bill.”

And then she gets the hell out of there.


	5. Chapter 5

One thing Shepard is good at is professional detachment.

Sex is her job, not her whole identity. Just something she’s good at and, with the right clients, sometimes enjoys. Most aliens get it. Humans are the ones who can’t distinguish between an individual and their sex life.

Point is, usually she can get over bad nights. Every job has ‘em. But the encounter with Aria and Patriarch leaves her furious, embarrassed and terrified.

Zaeed’s out when she comes home. She can avoid interrogation until Aria sends some men to drag her back for her death. Or maybe they’ll just kill her in the apartment. That sounds more like her style. Shepard goes into the bathroom and locks the door behind her. Showers always soothe her frazzled nerves and better to clean up now before she’s executed. She’ll make a damn pretty corpse.

Her anxiety eases as the hot water pours over her. Shepard has a fierce need to override the last few hours with newer memories of someone else’s touch. She leans backs against the wall and slips her finger between her legs. Begins a gentle rhythm in time with the thrumming water.

She doesn’t always need to fantasize but images comes anyway to help her along. Eyes shut, she imagines his claws where her fingers are. His mouth on her neck. His touch as precise as his aim, his voice rumbling in her ear.

“Garrus,” she gasps, the orgasm ripping through her.

Shit.

She likes Garrus. In a wanting to ride him naked kind of way. But also in a friendship, trusting kind of way. That was already clear to her but…hell she’s far gone if she’s longing for his company this bad.

Shit shit shit.

Shepard gets out of the shower and into the oversized clothes she wears for pajamas. A night like this would call for some stiff drinks but Afterlife’s the last place she should be. She debates between tackling one of the tiny, seedy bars or drinking one of Zaeed’s piss-awful beers. Then ends up sitting on the couch, practicing disassembling and reassembling her small gun.

A few hours later, the door bursts open. Shepard aims the gun at the intruder and then relaxes. It’s just Zaeed. “I don’t know what the hell you did,” he says and Shepard braces herself.

“I don’t know what you did,” he continues. “But Aria wants you for another night. All to herself for a big fucking sum of money.”

She exhales and sinks into the couch, thanking whatever god or spirit is listening.

Zaeed thrusts a datapad at her. “And she already sent me extra. Says that she got you to perform some extra services tonight. So how about that?”

“Tell her thanks,” says Shepard. “But no thanks.”

Zaeed gapes at her. She’s never seen his jaw drop so low. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Fine. I’ll tell her.” She enters the message and hits send before the old man can stop her. He calls her insubordinate and crazy and if she’d been in his Merc squad, he’d have spaced her years ago.

A reply comes shortly.

IN REPLY TO:

“Aria, this is Shepard. Thanks, but I’ve decided to pursue other avenues for my career. I’ll be happy to make a few recommendations if you would like.

Best, Shepard.”

“Shepard. Do what you want. Offer is on the table if you change your mind.

-Aria.”

* * *

Shepard services three Batarians and it’s actually three Batarians this time. No surprise Vorcha. They like to come at her in groups—they feel better about wanting human pussy if they treat her like a responsive sex toy. Comes with three holes for your enjoyment. Batteries sold separately.

Having two men coming at her feels pretty damn good. They’re quick and she has to fake her muffled orgasms but the sensation is pretty nice. It’s the third Batarian intent on choking her that she’s not fond of. When you’ve got a dick in your vagina and a dick in your ass, it’s hard to control the one sliding down your throat. He keeps pushing deep in her throat, not quite passing the gag reflex.

He finishes last, pouring seed into the condom before he takes it out of her. “Good human,” he says and starts cleaning himself off. His two friends have already pulled out and cleaned up.

“Got any water?” Shepard asks, rubbing her throat. “Or anything?”

“You did your job. Go on home,” he says but one of his friends tosses her a beat-up flask. She takes a swig and the alcohol burns her throat, making her mouth feel clean. Somewhat. She holds the flask back out to him.

“Keep it,” he says with a grimace. “Good night.”

Shepard leaves, grateful that besides the raw throat and some general ass soreness, there’s little damage. The two who’d taken her front and behind had _not_ been well-endowed.

She’s got plans to meet with Garrus after the foursome. He’s been scarce with his actions against the Mercs escalating. He’d gotten a message to her through the datapad, promising to meet her for another shooting practice. Even vowed to let her use the sniper rifle.

The appointed meeting place is behind a dilapidated dive bar. Only a handful exist on Omega. If you want good booze, Aria wants to make sure you have to visit Afterlife. Shepard’s ventured there once in the three weeks after The Aria Incident. That’s what she and Garrus call it.

Of course, she edited parts out in the retelling. Especially the portion where she masturbated to the image of him fucking her. She’s got a job that makes dating not…impossible but tricky. He’s a hunted vigilante with a price on his head. Her dumb little crush is going to stay a dumb little secret.

But she watches out for him. Shares the scanty Merc intel she hears from clients. She’s made it a personal rule not to spill anything heard from Kela and her other regulars. Eating and surviving is still important to her. It’s only the Merc one-timers she’ll narc on.

Time passes. Too much time. The bastard’s stood her up. If she finds out that he’s out killing another well-paying Merc client of hers…well, she’ll shoot him. Again. And not with a paint clip.

Convinced he won’t show, Shepard ducks into the bar for a stiff drink. Hell, maybe she’ll convince someone to pay for a corner booth hand job. They say you that if you want to be successful, you always have to look for new business opportunities.

Inside, Humans and Batarians nurse their drinks. It’s so dark she has to squint as she scans the room for friends, enemies or clients. There isn’t a face she knows. Just a room full of strangers and a small radio box in the corner playing Asari popular music. Fine by her.

“Martini,” she tells the bartender as she pulls up a stool. “So fucking dry.”

The bartender deadpans, “So vodka with olives?”

“Yes. Good man.”

“Well, no olives here. Not the kind you know anyway,” he shrugs. He’s a Human, worn and lethargic like most Humans on Omega. “But I got something really close the Asari like. Jar says it’s from Thessia.”

“Go for it.” She props her elbows on the counter. “Get many Asari here?”

“Enough to-“

The front door swings open and a Human teen rushes in, eyes wide. Like the few minutes Shepard once saw of an American Wesetrn vid. “They got ‘em!” the boys pants. “Garm. He got ‘em.”

“Who?” Shepard demands, her voice a note in the chorus of questioning bar patrons.  Garm’s the Blood Pack leader with a grudge against-

“Archangel,” says the boy. His voice wavers with sorrow. “Garm got ‘em.”

* * *

It’s a slow, desperate run to Garrus’ hideout. She takes a roundabout way, terrified someone might follow her there. Hoping he’s still alive.

She’d known he wasn’t going to last. It doesn’t soothe her.

Erash and Sidonis are keeping guard right outside the squad’s partitioned loft. She’s panting, her hands and voice shaking as she demands. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

“It’s bad.” Sidonis puts a hand on her shoulder. He’s trying to keep his tone light. The strain is too apparent in him for it to work. “Our medic’s looking at him-“

She shrugs off his touch. “Let me see him.”

Erash shakes his head once, emphatic. “He needs quiet. And sanitary conditions. You-“

Shepard clocks him in the jaw without remorse and pushes past them. If they’re the defense between Garrus and further danger, then he’s fucked.

They have him in his partitioned room, the former Eclipse medic Butler crouching over him. Shepard’s stomach and heart twist. Out of his armor, out of any clothes besides pants, Garrus looks vulnerable. The bandages around his chest are stained blue. His right leg is wrapped and elevated. His shoulder is mangled.

Butler looks up. He has the bland, handsome face that’s usually reassuring in a doctor. “Miss Shepard, you shouldn’t be here.”

She ignores him and kneels by the Turian. Feints a punch at his chest. “You son of a bitch. You stood me up. What the hell happened to you?”

Garrus coughs and his eyes shut tight as the movement jars his battered form. He writhes as the pains overtake him and she doesn’t want to watch but she keeps her eyes on him.

“Sorry Shepard,” he croaks. “Had a bad run-in with Garm. My fault. On the way to see you, found out he was alone…”

“Fuck.” She presses a hand on his forehead. He’s so warm all the time; it jars her when his skin is frigid to the touch. “Everyone’s saying you’re dead.”

“Might be…an advantage. Sneak up on ‘em.”

“Unless Garm knows you’re alive and just wants to boost his strength and reputation,” says Butler. His voice drops and he looks at Shepard. “If people rally around him for it…he’ll come around to finish the job.”

“Will he be okay? Here.” Shepard produces the medi-gels she procured for the foursome. She’d only used one after the appointment.

“Thank you. He will make it, don’t worry.” Butler smiles. His voice is mellow, purposefully so. He’s not making any sudden movements. “But even with the medi-gels speeding up the process…it will be a painful, vulnerable day of healing.”

“I just broke past your security. And no one knows what Garm is planning. And now you tell me he’s vulnerable? Oh yeah, I’m definitely not worried.” Her fingers tense against Garrus’ forehead. “All of you need to get your fucking act together.”

“Shepard…” Garrus murmurs. She can see a pattern of what must be bruising across his throat and shoulders. Damn damn damn.

“You focus on getting better,” she tells Garrus. “I’ll be back.”

 He closes his fingers around her wrist. “Where…are you going?”

"Business,” she says, detaching from him. “You get better so I can kill you for scaring me.”

“Had a feeling you cared,” he rumbles. “It’s…my natural charm.”

“Hush up and rest.” She braces her hands on the floor and bends down, kissing his mandible. It surprises him enough to stifle any further protest.

Once she’s outside and a few blocks away, she turns her comm. link back on and calls up Zaeed. “It’s me. I want you to get me Garm.”

There’s a long pause as Zaeed curses too softly for her to distinguish the words. “Garm? You refused him twice already. What are you up to, Girlie?”

“Nothing. I just think I need to expand my clientele. Charge him what he offered before.”

“Right. And when he asks why you want him now? When you refuse any Blood Pack?”

“Tell him…” She pauses, leans against a chain-link fence. “Tell him I’m impressed that he took down Archangel. Anyone who can do that can certainly satisfy me in bed.”

“Archangel? Shit. What is going on?”

“Do it,” she tells him. “Before I decide I’m not so hot for him and you won’t get a nice juicy cut.”

“Damnit. A cut doesn’t mean shit to me if he kills you.”

Oh hell. The warmth is a welcome balm to her worry but it comes with guilt that she’s hurting her…whatever Zaeed is to her. “Please. Trust me.”

“…Alright. You better know what you’re doing.”

“Yes.” She thinks about Garrus, injured and vulnerable. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Just a warning: the sex in this chapter is consensual but it does get pretty rough. if that's something that bothers you feel free to move onto the next chapter.

Mascara makes Shepard feel powerful. Same with the boots she saves for special occasions that zip to mid-thigh. It’s like the armor Zaeed puts on every day though he’s semi-retired. The appearance gives command.

And Shepard deserves an award for her appearance four hours later at the Blood Pack base. Approaching it like she just can’t wait to let Garm inside her. Her coat pockets are filled with medi-gel, her gun is loaded but she doesn’t seem to give a damn about her fate as she strolls in.

Not when Vorcha chatter and hiss around her, taunting.

Not when they follow while a Krogan guard leads her down the hall.

Not when he pushes her into Garm’s dark bedchamber.

“So, Shepard finally visits.” Garm stalks out of the shadows like a vid villain. “Zaeed tells me I finally impressed you.”

She smirks and puts a hand on her hip. “Mm. After you took care of that menace…I knew you’d be satisfying.”

Garm laughs. “Yeah, I took care of him real good.” He grabs her wrists and pushes her onto the bed.

Shepard touches his chest as he looms over her, sliding her fingertips downwards. “Tell me how.”

He hesitates, caught between lust and the Krogan obligation to brag about victories. Even fabricated ones. Cultural needs win out. “That Cuttlefish tried to ambush me when I was returning to my base. Alone, of course. I don’t need my men around to fight my battles.” That, she believes. “He tried to shoot me first. He’s handy with that rifle.”

“Was. Was handy.” she murmurs, kissing his shoulder. “You took care of that.”

“I did.” Garm thrusts his claws into her hip until she gasps. “Don’t you forget that I killed him.”

“But how?” She sees the pleasure in his eyes when she flinches. He twists the claws in her wounds and his breath quickens when she can’t hold in a curse. “No mauling, Garm.”

The other claw finds her shoulder, pins her down. “You’ll live, Shepard. I got him down from his little perch. In close combat, he’s nothing. Was nothing. I tore him limb…” He pulls his claws from her hip and sinks them into her thigh. “From limb.”

“Good.” Fuck. She lifts her head. “Ground rules, Garm. I’ll do anything you like but when I say stop, you stop or you’ve got a dead girl on your hands who can’t come back to fuck you again. And you’re wearing a condom.”

He sneers and she grabs his cowl, jerking him down to bash her forehead against his. It’s weak from her limited range of motion but effective. Garm nods.

“Fine Shepard. Anything I like.”

Once she’s put the condom on him, he gathers blood from her puncture wounds and coats his member with it. With one hand he flips her around, arm wrapping around her stomach as thrusts into her ass. She doesn’t hold in her yelp because he likes it and she needs him lulled and satisfied.

They stand as he pumps into her and his claws slide down her belly to slip into her folds. They scratch her to the brink of calling for a halt but she remembers Garrus, remembers her medi-gels.

He comes against her and she slumps, catching her breath. A minute passes and he’s hard again, barely able to control himself while she changes the condom. (The need to breed and breed and breed when with a fertile female was a biological instinct for Krogans even before the Genophage.) The condom goes on and he’s pinning her on her back and shoving into her front. Shepard doesn’t know if she’s feeling pleasure or pain. Or if she’ll walk after this.

Garm recharges again while Shepard removes the second condom. He grabs the back of her neck and pushes her to the ground. Her knees slam into the hard floor.

“Suck me off,” he growls. “Without the condom.”

“No,” Shepard shakes her head. “You’re wearing the condom.”

“Anything I want, you said.” She ignores him and puts the fresh condom on. You don’t argue with a Krogan. You just act. He acts too, pushing his cock against her mouth like the Batarian from earlier. Was that only a few hours ago?

The third time does it.  He sighs and collapses back onto the bed, groaning. Shepard sits on the floor; bleeding, torn, sore and waiting for Garm’s breathing to even. It’s clear from his words that he’s not sure if Archangel’s dead. She needs something more than hearsay though. Something that makes touching him worth it.

He falls asleep. She stands, biting her lower lip so hard it bleeds. It would be easy for her to strike right now. To take her gun and shoot him. To find something sharp to put in his throat. That wasn’t her original plan. Shepard had only meant to get intel and get the hell out before she passed out.

But it’s so tempting to make him pay for what he did to Garrus. If she had a bigger gun, she might be able to pull it off before he could retaliate. Sense wins over anger and she channels her steady rage into moving.

In the bedside table drawer is a datapad. It’s too easy. There can’t be anything on it. And there isn’t. Just a couple of shipping records. Everything else has been cleared. She copies the info onto her pocket drive anyway. Maybe it’ll be useful to Garrus later.

Garm’s room is sparse in furnishing. If this even in his room and not some weird, hooker guest room. When she does bed Krogans in their own home, they always have a little cache of treasures. Or gigantic piles of trash they think are worth something. She’s seen images of Tuchanka with bases to put packrats to shame. Shepard keeps up her slow inspection, running her hands along the wall.

Aha. A corner panel wobbles against her hands. She jars it loose, wincing when it clatters against the wall.

Garm stirs. Shepard freezes.

Garm rolls away from her side of the room and settles back into his coma. Her heart bangs against her chest so hard she worries it will wake him again.

There’s a datapad amidst the rest of Garm’s keepsakes (a pile of Fornax, a chunk of stone with Krogan carvings, a bleached skull that’s probably Turian). It’s password protected and takes her three tries to crack it. Her shaking hands don’t help much.

The password is “Fuck Aria.” Probably jealous that the Asari could squash him in a moment.

Inside the files is a wealth of info. She skims it, unable to suppress a grin. Time flits by as she becomes absorbed. When she remembers to check the clock in the corner of the screen, a half hour has already passed.

Shit. Shepard downloads the files, getting antsy as the data takes it sweet time transferring. In her rush, she nearly rips the pocket drive out without pressing the eject button. The datapad goes back into the treasure trove. As she pops the panel back into place, Garm is stirring again.

When he sits up, she’s back on the floor applying medi-gel to her torn nethers. She can feel his eyes on the exposed flesh of her neck. Wonders if she can put enough force into shoving the spiked heel of her boot into his throat. If she has the strength after the adrenaline fades and the blood loss kicks in.

Easy, she tells herself. Just get out and get to Garrus.

“What are you doing?” He demands, the bed squeaking as he moves closer to her.

“Healing,” she says, forcing a light tone. “Then I’ll be out of your way.”

Garm gets off the bed and steps in front of her, ripping the gel out of her hands. His lips curl back, exposing his sharp teeth. “You’ll walk home bruised and marked by me. That’s what I want.”

“Of course,” she says with a wink. Standing is harder the second time, with her body shutting down from the relief of resting. The gleam in his eye spurs her out of there before he’s ready to go again.

She got what she wanted. He’s never getting near her again.

* * *

Outside the base, after she loses the trailing Vorcha, she finds a safe place to tend herself. Most of her supplies go below to the worst wounds. The puncture marks decorating her body have scabbed over but she lost a lot of blood in Garm’s bed. And plenty more that he gathered to use as lubricant.

She can deal. She can survive this. Right now, she’s got business to conclude.

Sidonis and Erash let her through. Shepard stumbles into the loft and Sidonis hurries to keep her upright. He guides her to his leader’s space, one hand pressing against her lower back. She thinks she hears Butler exclaiming over her state but things are getting pretty hazy.

“Hey.” She drops to her knees beside Garrus.

“Shepard!” He gasps, grimacing as he reaches for her. “What happened to you?”

“Here.” She retrieves the pocket drive from her bra and places it in his palm, closing his fingers around it. “Some intel on Garm’s next few assignments. Also some correspondence that says he knows you’re alive but his network hasn’t turned up your location.”

Garrus manages to sit up, his breath increasing. He presses his hand to her cheek, stroking the line of her jaw. “You crazy Human. How did you get this? What did you do?”

“Talk later.” She moves his hand so she can lie down on his sleeping mat. Her body feels like lead—she won’t be getting up again soon. “Really need to sleep.”

Garrus lowers himself inch by inch, relying on his good arm. Once he’s settled, he again fits his palm to her cheek. In her periphery vision, she can see Butler approaching with more bandages. “At least tell me why.”

Sometimes Shepard doesn’t mean to be difficult. She just can’t help herself. Like this time—she falls asleep instead of replying.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Waking up is hell.

The first time she does it, everything is still a painful haze. Someone presses a cup to her lips and won’t let her fall back asleep till she drinks. Her voice croaks as she tries to protest but that cup is insistent. Shepard drinks enough to fill an aquarium and passes out.

The second time, her throat is dry again. Her eyelashes feel crusted to her skin from sleep. She fights, prying them open and lifting her head. Her ruined dress is gone, replaced with an old t-shirt and a sheet to cover her bottom half. They left her boots on. She can feel the tingle that comes with wounds healed by medi-gels.

“Hey.” Shepard turns her aching neck. Garrus is beside her. Still bandaged up but they’re new, unstained wrappings. His shoulder is whole.

“Watching me sleep?” She asks, rubbing her eyes. Make-up smears onto her knuckles. “You look a helluva lot better.”

“Almost two days of rest and gels will do that. Butler’s ordered me to stay in bed a little longer.” He pushes himself up, favoring the arm not recently yanked out of socket. “I did look at what you brought. How…?”

“Three guesses.” She rolls onto her side to better face him. It’s the first time she’s seen him without his visor. It’s nice.

“Butler said you were torn up. Spirits, Shepard.” His words are strangled with a growl and he slips his arms around her, tucking her into his chest.

The sensation of her cheek pressed to his bandaged chest is like being shot with electricity. Her heart is flipping over on itself without stop. Shepard clears her throat. “Just in a night’s work. It was nothing, really.”

“I know how you feel about the Blood Pack,” he murmurs into her hair. His claws trace the curve of her back. “If I had lost you to that bastard…”

She blurts, “Now you know how I felt when I heard he got you.”

Garrus’ touch stills and she doesn’t know which response she dreads: acceptance or rejection. And she doesn’t want to wait for either. Shepard just wants to be alive with him.

So she slides a leg over his waist and straddles his hips, naked from the hem of her shirt to the top of her boots. Her muscles sing with the movement.

He gapes. Shepard cups his face and brings her mouth down to his, kissing him. After a stunned pause he responds, sliding his tongue over hers. Eager to engage in this very non-Turian custom. She can feel his plates shifting, his member pressing against her through his pants.

“Wait…” he groans. “Do you want…Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Probably not. But she slips her fingers down to the snaps of his pants anyway. “I want this Garrus. I want you.”

“G-good. I mean…” His hands rest on her waist, fingers drumming. “I didn’t know you liked Turians.”

“I like _you_. It wouldn’t matter to me what you were.”

The ridge above his eyes rises, mandibles flaring. “How much like are we talking?”

She whacks his good shoulder. “Enough. Now shush while I take off your pants.”

Instead, Garrus grabs the hem of her shirt and pushes it up. She lifts her arms and her shoulders scream as the garment peels off. Beneath she has bandages decorating her torso, under her bra. He watches her unclasp the undergarment and remove the gun secreted there. It’s the most naked she’s been in front of someone since her last lover, four years ago.

“The vids said human women need foreplay to-…I just said that aloud.” Garrus brings his hand to cover his eyes. “Ignore that. It was awkward and terrible.”

Shepard leans forward, smirking. “You watched vids.”

“Well…” He glances back and forth. Like an escape route will appear. “I don’t have a Human fetish. Really. But…I like you more than I’ve liked any female. So if chance brought us together I wanted to be…prepared.”

Shepard rests her forehead on his chest, laughing till her eyes tear up. Garrus chuckles and sits up, arranging her on his lap. Her legs are splayed and she leans backwards against his forearm. The laughter stills in her throat as he slides a finger into her.

His touch is gentle, hesitant. Careful of his claws and of her recent injuries. He probes, brow furrowed in concentration. Shepard touches his wrist and guides him to the right spot.  Garrus is a quick learner. A second finger slips in between her folds. She grips his shoulders, gasping as teases her clit.

“Don’t stop,” she orders him. He disobeys, pulling his hand out and lying Shepard on her back. “Hey! I just said-“

Garrus buries his head in her thighs, flicking his tongue against the bundle of nerves. Shepard swears and bucks against him, fingers digging into the back of his head. The rough Turian tongue feels so damn good. She’s slick and hot and-

“Fuck. Garrus.” Shepard gasps, as he adds his fingers back into the mix. She bangs her fists on the ground as she comes. Yelping, writhing.

He moves up to kiss her, letting her taste herself on him. “I kinda like it when you talk dirty.”

“I always talk dirty,” she says, catching her breath. “So you just like it whenever I talk?”

“Yeah, that’s about accurate.” He shucks off his pants and props himself over her. Face red from his corny sentiment, she reaches for the zipper of her boots.

Garrus grabs her hand. “Ah…keep them on.”

“Aha. Found your kink.” She smirks and reverses the grasp. Takes hold of his wrist and presses his fingers down the length of her booted leg. Garrus swallows.

“These…” He strokes upward from her knee, voice dropping down to something rough and guttural. “Are really sexy boots, Shepard.”

Oh fuck. All he needs to do is keep talking like that and she’ll come again.

“Noted.” She hooks her other leg around his waist and jerks him down. The tip of him rubs against her, teasing. She’s aching for him now, as she slides her fingers around him. Rubs the ridged underside of his cock.

He groans. “Shepard…”

“I got you.” Shepard guides him down. He follows her lead and enters her. She hisses—the fit is tight and she’s still sore. 

Garrus pauses. “Are you okay? We can stop.”

“Oh no,” Shepard shakes her head. “We’re not stopping.” She tilts her hips until he’s buried to the hilt inside her. 

He slips out, torturous and slow. And with the same maddening pace, pushes back in again. The pace is easier on her body and Shepard’s grateful but damnit, she just really wants to fuck him. She sits up and catches his mandible between her lips, sucking on it.

Instinct wins over his control. His pace quickens, his hands tight on her waist as he moves inside her. Shepard makes no effort to keep quiet. She's lightheaded. Like she’s plummeting down, down a cliff and she won’t ever get back up but it’s okay because he’s falling with her.

She screams into his shoulder as she orgasms, arms tight around his neck. Garrus growls in response, the noise roaring in her ears. He shudders and pulls out, spilling onto the ground beside them.

They lie on their sides for a long time, clasped close enough to hear each other’s heartbeat. Then Garrus presses his rough cheek to hers and nuzzles her from temple to shoulder.

She closes her eyes and lets him attend to her. His heavy breathing tells her he wasn’t quite up to this yet and her body is sobbing from exertion and pain. It was a really dumb idea. It was the best idea she had ever had.

“Shepard…” Garrus murmurs. “…Will we be doing this again?”

She smiles. Fuck. There’s her death and warrant and here is her big fat signature. “It had better be. Or I’d come after you.”

“Right after saving me.” The relief is so tangible in his voice that she can feel the weight of it on her. He is far, far gone and she doesn’t know if she can live up to that kind of affection. “Stay. Please. You should recover before you go back out there.”

“I heal fast.” She nuzzles back, feeling clumsy at it. The gentle rumble in his chest tells her it will do. “But yeah, I think I can lie here for the time being.”

* * *

The hardest part is leaving his arms. It feels too good, staying tangled with him under the thin sheet. She dozes on and off, lulled into a trance by the soft rumble of his breathing.

Reality calls. Shepard has to check in with Zaeed and meet with clients. He has to patrol the hollowed-out asteroid they call home. Garrus is nearly recovered, she has a few more miles to go.

They dress in silence and it’s a damn shame to see Garrus covering up that body. A few hours ago, Butler brought navy pants and freshly-cleaned grey boxers for her to have. There’s no mention of who the donor is but the only one in the group near her size is Erash.

“You watch your ass out there, Garrus,” she tells him, rubbing his cheek “Because I’m done saving it for awhile.”

“I owe you everything Shepard.” He leans his face into her palm, stroking her wrist with his claws. “I feel like I should grovel or be your slave or something to make up for this.”

“You can make up for this by laying low until you’re at a hundred percent. Send me a message when you’re up to some company.” She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down. Their foreheads rest together. “Though I do like the groveling idea. Or just the thought on you on your knees before me…” She smirks. “Did you see that on your vids?”

Garrus sighs, closing his eyes. “Can’t believe I told you about those.” He rubs her hips, stirring her drive back up. “Any chance you’ll forget?”

She detaches from him. Any more time spent here and she’s going to jump him again. “Not a single chance.”

Shepard tosses him a wink and saunters away. His footsteps follow her to the loft’s main door; his eyes follow her until she disappears.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your kudos and lovely comments. They make my day :)
> 
> I do not own Mass Effect

Zaeed is freaking the hell out when she comes home. Convinced Garm or his Vorcha or both had killed her: he’d made dozens of calls to his contacts. A good thirty minutes following her arrival is spent firing off messages to all of the roused parties.

Then he wants to know what she’s up to. She feeds him the same lines about expanding her clientele.

“Bullshit,” he says. “You’re up to something. And I bet this whole apartment that I’ll hate it.”

“Then you probably don’t want to know,” she shrugs. He scowls but takes her advice, dropping the matter. The next few days are quiet as Shepard takes a mini-vacation and Zaeed depletes their beer stores.

She returns to work. The first night is a long one with two Humans and Batarian from the Blue Suns. All mid-level in the Merc structure. Zaeed won’t deal with the gang’s higher-ups, even if Tarak doesn’t bother him like Vido would. The job pays well. No news to pass along to Garrus though. The rest of week is spent with her regulars: Kela, Harrot, the Afterlife bouncer.

After a grueling session with Kela, Shepard naps on her client’s couch. She’s roused by Kela laughing loud into her comm. link.

“I knew Garm was lying!” Kela hoots. Shepard sits up, kicking off the blanket Kela must’ve put it there. Wipes the drool off her chin. “That dishonest bastard deserved what he got.”

She tiptoes to the door to listen. There’s a woman’s voice on the other end, deeply pitched. Another Asari matriarch. Probably Eclipse too. “This means Archangel is not dead after all.”

“Let him focus on the Blood Pack then. And the Blue Suns,” Kela says. “No matter what he does, Eclipse will always be on Omega.”

Probably true. Word is Aria’s old friends with the Eclipse leader. Still, Shepard bets on Garrus. And hopes that he gave Garm a thousand times what the Krogan gave to them both. Deserved what he got indeed.

When she gets home, Zaeed’s waiting on the couch.  There’s a plate of chopped protein rations balanced on his knees, a few beer cans decorating the couch. He leans back when she comes in.

“Real funny turn of events,” he says. “Archangel came back from the dead and got the drop on Garm. No one’s sure how Archangel knew where Garm was meeting his slaver contacts. Or how many men he’d be bringing.”

“Huh,” she frowns. “Garm was pretty sure he killed Archangel. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s some copycat vigilante.”

“Right. Well if Garm survives all the lead they pumped into ‘em—and he will—I hope he doesn’t figure out who snitched on him. For the snitch’s sake.” He lets that sink in. At last he stands, knocking over his dinner. “Now tell me why someone left a big damn crate for you on our doorstep. Payment for a good deed?”

“What?” Had Garm sent a bomb? Garrus’ severed head? “Where is it?”

“In your room. Still not going to tell me what’s going on?”

Shepard bolts away. A long crate is waiting on her tiny bed, the mattress sinking beneath its weight. She grasps the top and pries it open, grunting. Inside is a crinkled piece of paper on a bed of cloth.

“For helping our mutual friend. Thank you. Erash, Monteague, Mierin, Grundan Krul, Melanis, Ripper, Sensat, Vortash, Butler, Weaver and Sidonis.”

Beneath the cloth is an old, beat-up, newly modified, beautiful sniper rifle.

“The hell?” Zaeed asks behind her. She crumples the note, stuffing it into her coat pocket.

“Satisfied patrons?” Shepard glances over her shoulder, gripping the sides of the crate. “Look…if things get too heavy, I’ll let you know. Deal?”

“…Fine.” Zaeed sighs. “You’re right. I still don’t want to know. Now let me have a look at your new toy.”

* * *

Garrus is embarrassed that his squad gifted her with such an extravagant present. And, he admits to her, mad at himself for not thinking of it first. But he teaches her the best ways to care for and handle the rifle. He’s a thorough teacher; they spend many productive hours in his shooting range.

Shepard revels in the lessons but also in flustering him. Like when he gets behind her to adjust her stance. She’ll press her bottom to his groin, grinding against his hips. He can’t feel much beneath the armor. It doesn’t stop him from sputtering and stammering.

Garrus gets her back. The next time her stance is off, he traps her in his arms. His hands move in slow caresses down her body while he nips at her neck. Shepard discovers that she really likes the feel of Turian teeth. And really, really likes his prehensile tongue.

And damn, he’s a fast learner. They move their fucking upstairs out of deference to the other squad members. (Garrus is learning all types of tricks to make her scream.) When she’s too sore from work and he from missions, they sit and calibrate their guns. Swap stories about their day and their past.

She’s actually kinda happy.

And then one night, she’s servicing two Blue Suns. Humans, ranking in the upper-middle of their gang. She’s opened herself up to more Blue Suns clients though security experts like them don’t often leave intel lying around.

Shepard rides one of them, hands braced against his chest, head thrown back. Her nails press into his abdomen and he lets out a low moan. The other watches in the corner, pumping himself, urging Shepard to fuck his friend harder.

Someone pounds on the door. “LeClair! Farraday! Code A is a go! Asses in gear!”

“Fuck,” says LeClair beneath her. He scrambles upward, dislodging Shepard. She tumbles to the floor. “Sorry ma’am. You gotta go.”

Shepard hands his pants to him and he jumps into them, swearing under his breath. She asks, “Code A?”

Farraday groans in the corner as he spills onto the floor. He leans back, naked body slick with sweat. His mouth tilts to one side. “We’ve had a plan in motion for weeks. This means we finally found that Turian’s nest-“

“Farraday!” LeClair hisses. He looms over Shepard, eyes narrowed. “You didn’t hear anything. Or I call the bank and have them take back my credits.

“Got it,” she nods. The picture of calm while inside, she’s fucking terrified for Garrus. For his squad.

She gets out of the room, only to be stopped at the front. It’s one of the apartment blocks owned by the Blue Suns with tight security at every entrance. Shepard’s hands itch to draw her gun as they go over her record. Question her. Make sure she hasn’t heard anything she shouldn’t. It was never so strict before.

But they hadn’t been about to kill her Archangel before.

Shepard’s released forty painful minutes later. Two of the Suns follow her for five blocks. She goes in a wide circle around, keeping her pace to a fast walk until she loses them, squeezing behind a dumpster. Soon as their voices fade away, she’s off.

“God. Let him be alive,” she whispers as she runs. The missionaries said God answers prayers. Shepard’s never gotten anything but silence back but desperation has her pleading to him. To anyone listening.

The Blue Suns are everywhere. When she thinks she’s clear, that she knows a path they don’t…the bastards show up. Shepard has been humiliated. She’s been mauled. She’s been choked, whipped, shot, stabbed, clawed and a dozen other things. But she hasn’t been this helpless since she was a kid, watching her family ripped to shreds by the Blood Pack.

She makes it to the building. A crowd is creeping around the perimeter as the Suns swarm over Garrus’ base. In front of it are ten bodies, lain out for Omega to see. None of them are clean kills but she knows them. Erash, Monteague, Mierin, Grundan Krul, Melanis, Ripper, Sensat, Vortash, Butler and Weaver.

No Sidonis. No Garrus.

Have they both made it out? Are they still inside, waiting to be displayed in the street? Shepard has to get in there.

A Blue Sun, Human from his helmet, ducks into one of the alleys. Shepard follows and finds him relieving himself behind a few trashcans. Time to perform. Time to act like her make-up isn’t smeared and her heart isn’t pounding.

“Well hello.” She says with a smirk. Her eyes linger on the cock in his hands, studying the length before she sweeps her gaze up to his. The Merc lifts his helmet visor and offers a lopsided smile.

Last week, Garrus helped mod her pistol to be silent as death. She’s quick and the kill is easy. Easier than expected. The insides of the helmet are now splattered with blood and the armor’s heavy as hell but it gets her into the building. All she has to do is not breathe in the stench.

The loft is decorated with bodies and blood. Shepard, already sick from the carnage in the helmet, has to find a private corner to retch. The room is filled with Suns dragging out their comrades’ bodies. There are a few others getting sick as well. Shepard escapes overt notice.

No Sidonis amidst the dead Turians. No Garrus. She checks as she takes orders to bring Blue Suns bodies out back to the Merc transport. The amount of Mercs allows her to work fast and get out without notice.

When she’s safe, she has to throw the helmet down. Retch again. Tear the armor off in disgust, down to the undersuit she filched from the dead Human. The gore is still on her face. Shepard wipes her cheek and her fingers are covered with blood and bits of his flesh. The pistol blast disintegrates but not everything is eradicated.

She doesn’t know how to find Garrus. He always found her before. Dropped in on her walks. Sent messages telling her when it was safe to come. And excepting the time with Garm, she’d played by the rules. To defend the base’s secrecy.

Anger dries up the panic swirling in her. They’d taken plenty of Blue Suns with them but Garrus’ squad had still been massacred. They hadn’t deserved that. Every one of them had been a good man, trying to bring some justice to the darker corners of the galaxy.

She’s felt this thirst for vengeance before. When she took on those two Vorcha clients as a teen. When she endured Garm to make him pay. This time is different. One person can’t take a gang by herself. But three people might be able to. If those two others are in fact alive.

Shepard waits.


	9. Chapter 9

The Blue Suns withdraw. The crowds withdraw. The Suns leave security behind in case Archangel appears. Shepard watches the two guarding the displayed bodies. Wishes for her sniper rifle so she can pick them off. What she does have is her pistol and an assault rifle taken from the Human she killed. It will have to be enough.

It’s a relief when one of the guard’s head dissolves. Then the other.

Shepard moves forward, ducking down behind a trio of trash cans. There are four Suns on guard duty inside. They emerge and Garrus picks one off. Shepard guns one down. They repeat. No one else comes out.

“Reinforcements will be here soon,” she calls in the direction Garrus’ shots came from. “Let’s get going.”

Garrus drops down from his vantage point. Removes his helmet. “I’m not leaving them.”

His voice is flat. Dead. He looks past her to the bodies of his comrades. Murmurs each name as his eyes fall on each squad member.

“We’ll find a way to come back for them. To avenge them. I’ll find a transport.” The promises spill from her. As if one will break his trance. “We’ll find Sidonis, get him back and-“

“Sidonis.” Garrus says in his awful, lifeless tone. “Sidonis sold us out.”

It doesn’t compute at first. Genial, helpful Sidonis? He wasn’t the best asset the squad had but he and Garrus had been close. But then…she’s seen plenty of men and women turn coward on Omega.

“…Okay.” She has to take a breath. “Okay. Fine. But we still need to get you to safety. They want you.”

“They can have me,” he growls. Lets his treasured rifle clatter to the ground. “And I’ll take them all to hell with me.”

Anger, fear, sorrow spur her to crack her knuckles against his cheek. His skin scrapes against hers as she makes contact. His head jerks to the side and he makes no sound. “You fucking bastard. If you die then their deaths don’t mean shit. They need you, they need us to remember them.”

Garrus turns his face back to her. His eyes close, his head drops. “Shepard-“

“No,” she hisses. “Whatever you say, no. We’re getting out of here to avenge them another day. Consider this my official entry into your gang.” She can hear the roar of footsteps in the distance. The Blue Suns are coming. “Now pick up your rifle and let’s go.”

He follows, letting her guide him out of danger to the only safe place she knows.

Home.

* * *

Zaeed stands in the front doorway, eyes narrowed to slits. “What the hell are you thinking, bringing him here?”

Shepard meets his scowl. “You don’t even know who he is-“

“I’ve got a pretty good guess.” He grabs her shoulders and hisses. “Do you want us killed in our beds?”

She grimaces at the odor of stale beer on his breath. Gives him a shove. “I just need to get my things. I’m changing professions.”

He jerks back, looking dazed. Hell, _she’s_ dazed by the decision. Maybe she’ll wake up tomorrow and wonder what the hell she just did with her life. It feels right though, taking up the cause. Except…well it’s not really that. She’s not sure anyone can make a difference on Omega like Garrus and his squad were trying to do.

But she is damn sure that they were good people for trying. And the Mercs who killed them deserve payback.

“Look,” she sighs. Lets her hands fall to her sides. “Are you really going to turn us away?”

Zaeed snarls in frustration and steps aside, letting Shepard pull Garrus into the apartment.

“Had a feeling something like this would happen.” Zaeed says, stalking into the room after them. “Damnit…I even have a contingency plan.”

At her raised eyebrows, he explains. “Cerberus offered me a job a few weeks ago. Think I’ll take it. It’ll get me off Omega when clients realize you’ve joined up with Archangel.”

“Cerberus?” Shepard frowns. They show up on Omega like the missionaries. Instead of doling out religion with hot meals, Cerberus offers enlistment. Promise to get you away from all the non-Humans on Omega. “That’s a weird fit for you.”

“You shouldn’t be talking, Girlie.” He shakes his head, glancing over at Garrus. The Turian is slumped on the couch, staring at his hands. “They promised to help me take down Vido. Be damned stupid to refuse.”

“Guess so.” Shepard takes a look around the apartment. At the man she’d call an adoptive father in a normal situation. Her throat feels tight.

Zaeed looks a little misty himself and turns his gaze away. “There’s a package for you. In my bedroom closet. Picked it up in case…this happened.”

Birthdays and gift-centric holidays aren’t celebrated in the Massani-Shepard household. But when Shepard opens the crate and finds the second-hand Merc armor…well it’s all those special occasions at once. Garrus sits on Zaeed’s bed and watches her put it on. A faint light returns to his hollow eyes.

“Omni-tool’s here,” says Zaeed, indicating her right arm. “It’s an Infiltrator model. You’ve got slots for three guns. Don’t let yourself get weighted down. You focus on keeping the hell alive.”

“I will,” she promises. “I better see you again.”

“I’m not the one going to my death.” He folds his arms, dropping his voice. “You’re sure about this? I expected it…but it’s a damn stupid thing to do.”

Shepard looks at Garrus. Sighs. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

She packs her essentials, leaving the memories and treasures of her life behind in the small room. The three of them walk to the doorway when she’s ready, the silence heavy on them.

She’s not sure how to segue into a goodbye from here. Zaeed makes the first gesture with a hug so powerful she can feel it beneath the armor but so brief neither can get emotional.

“Stay alive,” she tells him, opening the door.

“Stay alert,” he responds. Shepard walks through the door with Garrus. Waits till the door shuts before she looks back.

* * *

With Shepard at his side, Archangel declares war on the Suns. If Blood Pack or Eclipse get in the way, they’re knocked off too.

They live on the run. Shepard gets supplies where she can, going helmeted when she and Garrus make their strikes. Watches at night are split, one relieving the other to let them get a half night’s sleep. Garrus says little.

It takes three days before he can talk about Sidonis. About how the traitor had lured Garrus away and how Garrus realized it was a set-up too late. Shepard still doesn’t understand why Sidonis would do it. Pure cowardice seems the only logical reason. But she can’t stomach pushing Garrus for information when just talking seems to hurt him.

When he’s told his story, he closes his eyes and says, “My father says that the true test of a man comes when they have to sacrifice something for someone else. So if Sidonis failed…what does that say of me? I picked him. I trusted him.”

“We all trusted him,” Shepard says.

“No, you kept telling me not to trust anyone. Not even you.” He strokes her neck, nails grazing her throat. “…And I still trust you.“

He lets his hand drop. She can’t think of what to say. What to do. She can only watch him retreat back inside of himself.

Shepard has second watch shift that night. She finds him intent on his visor. That first night, he’d carved his squadmates’ names in a daze onto the frame. Now he’s burning out the eleventh name, hands shaking.

“Garrus.” She kneels before him, touching his cheek. “My turn to keep watch. Go to sleep.”

“Shepard…” he breathes, eyes dark. “When the Vorcha killed them, how did you keep going?”

The question startles her. His dull tone rips her heart. “I…let the hole in me fill up with anger. It kept me living.” She rocks back on her heels. “It also made me stupid though. About those two Vorcha clients. I did the same damned thing when Garm got you so…I’m a poor learner.

“So I guess…Sorry. Guess I don’t have the answer.” She sighs. “I don’t know how to help you.”

“I do.” He pulls her up and kisses her. His hands curl around her shoulders and he pushes her onto the ground, onto her back.

Even their most frenzied sex has been tempered with Garrus’ caution. He was always aware of his hard plates and the effect they’d have on her soft skin. There’s no hesitance now as he tears off her armor, claws at her undersuit.

Shepard returns the treatment, pawing at the clasps of his armor. He sinks his teeth into her shoulder. She digs her nails into the sensitive skin of his waist. They fight for dominance, pinning each other. He growls and hauls her against the wall, trapping her with his weight.

“Fuck,” she groans as he pushes into her. Her thighs chafe against his as he pumps and makes no sound but a steady rumble. Garrus knows her body now, knows how to move until she’s sobbing. The orgasm hits fast and he keeps going, his hands braced on the wall. She’s crying for release soon again and again it comes.

Seconds later he lets out a sound, anguished and primal and pleased. Empties into her as he slumps, panting.

“Fuck,” he echoes her. She’s startled into a laugh because she’s never heard Garrus use that particular curse. The translator tells her that he’s using the Human word, not some Turian equivalent.

“Yeah, we did” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. Pressing her cheek to his. “…Joke.”

He grips her around the waist. They stay like that, against the wall, long after their breathing has returned to normal. Until he makes a strangled sound that’s almost a laugh. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortish chapter as we gear up for the end
> 
> Your comments are lovely :)

Shepard doesn’t know where Garrus has gone. It’s Archangel she spends the time with. A mania has taken hold of him, apparent in the strict way he drills her in shooting, in the way he’s slaughtering Mercs without doubt.

When they trade watches the seventh night, she finds him kneeling by the window. He clutches the visor, reciting their names one by one. Like a prayer. Shepard has to take hold of his shoulders and lead him to the mat, tucking him in with their single ratty blanket. She holds the visor that night, tracing the names.

There’s a bad run-in with Eclipse on the tenth day. They cut her off from Garrus and she holds a weakening position, running through her ammo. Her pistol, her assault rifle, her sniper rifle: all depleted. There’s a cloaking device on her omni-tool and she uses it, making a run for freedom.

A helmeted Asari catches her, slamming her fist into Shepard’s stomach. The cloak disappears as she falls to the ground and the Merc shoves the barrel of her hand-cannon against Shepard’s helmet. _Shit._ Shepard shoots off an incinerating blast from her omni-tool and rolls away before the Asari fires in a panic.

She hears the Asari curse and knows the voice. Her heart feels like a cold stone. “Kela!”

Kela raises the gun. Her hand trembles as she recognizes her opponent. “…Shepard? So it’s true.”

Shepard needs time for her cloaking device to recharge. And Kela’s finger is still on the trigger. She stands, palms raised and facing the other female. “Yeah. Yeah, I went rogue. Don’t tell me you’re surprised. I was always-“

“Shepard.” Kela’s voice is cold. Calm. “Just this one time…go. Get out of here.”

“Kela-

“Now.” Kela waves her gun, motioning towards the one route to safety. Her other squad members are advancing. The only reason they haven’t attacked is because they expect Kela to make the kill. “Next time I see you, I’m shooting.”

Shepard runs and Kela throws up a biotic barrier when the other Mercs start firing.  She doesn’t look back.

* * *

On the fourteenth day, the three Merc groups band together. They start pushing, forcing Shepard and Garrus to keep moving. They want to corner the two. So the duo picks their own corner—a warehouse with one main bridge that funnels opponents for them to pick off. There are other routes inside but they lock shutters in place to block them off.

The lucky ones that make it through Shepard and Garrus’ sniper rifles are taken down by Shepard’s assault rifle, with Garrus aiding once the main runway is clear. She goes cloaked afterwards and strips the bodies of clips, gels and rations.

They get her good once. A Krogan makes it inside and charges her. Shepard lands in a daze, fumbling for the incinerate command on her omni-tool. Then a rain of bullets falls from above and pierces the Krogan. He pitches forward and Shepard rolls out of the way.

Garrus hurries down and picks her up, carrying her back upstairs. Shepard protests. She’s fine, she was about to burn that guy up. It doesn’t stop him. Even when he sets her on the bench upstairs, his hands remain tense on her waist.

“I told you to watch for charging Krogan,” he grunts. She hates getting a lecture but it’s worse with Garrus’ helmet is on. It’s so damn impersonal. “You have to stay aware.”

“I will. I am.” She takes off her helmet, balancing it on her lap. “Everyone gets knocked down once in a while.”

“We can’t afford once it awhile.” Garrus also removes his helmet, wrenching it off and letting it drop to the ground. “It’s just us against hundreds of them.”

“Hey. We’ll get out of this mess.” She’s not much of an optimist but the raw fear in his eyes pushes her to platitudes.

“I can’t…” His breath shudders.  Hhe cups her face. Strokes her cheeks with his thumbs. “I can’t lose you Shepard. You’re the only good thing left in this galaxy.”

Of all the things she’s been called, “good” has never been one of the. Not in the way he means it: right, noble, true. She’s never felt like those adjectives suit her. But he says it like it’s fact.

“Oh hell, Garrus.” Shepard turns her head to press a kiss into his palm. Her right hand rests on his knuckles. “You trust me, right?”

“It’s not about that,” he murmurs. “I’ve led you to your death.”

“No.” She holds up her free hand. “I volunteered. And did the leading that day. So don’t even. Now, do you trust me?”

He exhales and presses his forehead to hers. “Yes. I do.”

“Then trust me to be capable. Trust me to live.” Shepard shifts to her knees and kisses his mandible. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re partners.”

Garrus puts his arms around her, jerking her onto his lap and against his chest. He nuzzles her as if he can’t get close enough to her, cupping the back of her neck. Shepard hitches a leg around his waist and lies down on her back, pulling him with her. Her hands fumble to remove the armor around his groin.

Their coupling is quick this time. No telling when the next wave of Mercs will come. It’s not enough to get her off but his touch is welcome after days without. He ends it with sinking his teeth into her neck. Branding her. Behavior that she charged clients extra for but with him…she’ll let him mark all of her if he wants. Devour her. And if his plates weren’t so tough, she’d return the favor.

He has to do a quick patrol after. Shepard keeps watch, calibrating her guns the way he taught her. When she’s finishing up the assault rifle, her omni-tool pings. Someone wants to establish a comm. link with her. The readout displays the name. Definitely a secure channel.

“Shepard.” Aria’s voice comes in clear. “I understand you’ve got yourself into a mess with the Mercs.”

“Yeah.” Shepard checks the sight on the gun. “You could say that.”

“My offer from before still stands. Though if I went through the trouble of extracting you, I’d expect your usual rate to drop dramatically.”

Shepard’s heart slams up into her throat. She’d accept a deal from anyone if it got them to safety. It takes extra effort to keep her voice calm. Business-like. “How dramatically?”

“By at least 80%. I would need serious incentive to risk pissing off the Mercs.”

“Right. And if I wanted you to also extract my friend-”

“That’s not on the table." Aria's dispassionate tone turns clipped. "If I robbed the gangs of killing Archangel…well it’s not something I’m willing to deal with.”

The hope rising in her disappears. Of course. It can never be that simple. “I understand. But we’re a package deal. Where I go, he goes.”

“…Sorry to hear that Shepard. I’m surprised you’ve gone and given your heart to a dead man.” Aria continues before Shepard can protest. “Then again...you’ve demonstrated a shit survival instinct these past few months. Good luck. You’ll need it.”

“Right. Thanks.” She shuts off the comm. link. Turns around to aim her gun at the intruder standing in the doorframe. “…Oh. How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” Garrus says. He lifts his chin. She bets he’s got his teeth flashing behind the helmet. “And no, you can’t have your heart back.”

“Keep it,” she mumbles. Looks away, embarrassed. “Never used it much anyway.”

“You can have mine.” He strides over and sits beside her, hand resting on hers. Their fingers lace tight together. ”You’ve had it so long, there’s no point in giving it back now.”

“You know, I almost missed your bad lines.” Shepard sighs, leaning against him. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“No you weren’t.” He squeezes her hand. “It’s what makes me so appealing.”

The sounds of gunshots disrupt their conversation. They leave words behind and pick up their guns.


	11. Chapter 11

It takes shorter than expected for the Mercs to really start cooperating. Their attacks get tighter. Blood Pack brute strength is tempered with Eclipse cunning. The precise strikes speak of Blue Suns opportunism. It becomes harder to procure supplies. The Mercs are quicker in reclaiming their dead on the bridge. A few times, Garrus and Shepard let a couple make it to their base just to strip them.

It works twice until the Blue Suns send over one of their unhinged members. He’s slippery and frenzied, laughing as he darts from one corner to another. Garrus takes a heavy blow to the shoulder from the Merc’s armor piercing ammo. The man groans in delight as Garrus stumbles back. Shepard takes the opening and blows his fucking head off.

Bastard has no supplies on him but his gun and one extra thermal clip.

The hit to Garrus has bruised his armor. No serious damage. They have ten minutes to reload and recharge. Another group comes down the bridge. Young freelancers in second-hand armor with new guns that make a lot of noise but no impact. Shepard sees too much of her past self in their determined expressions. Her finger hesitates on the trigger.

Garrus fires instead, hitting two of them in the knee. They collapse and their friends kneel by them. The Turian fires again, a concussive round that hits one of their shoulders. Wailing, the two injured parties and two others stumble and crawl back. One remains till Garrus fires again, the concussive shot hitting him in the chest. He flees.

“Damned fools,” he grunts. “Hope they tell their friends to stay away.”

“Hm.” Shepard watches the kids scramble away. Hopes the Mercs don’t kill them for giving up.

More freelancers come in waves, the intervals between the attacks shrinking. Then comes a lull that stretches too long. The grand finale is coming. Shepard paces by the window, holding her rifle tight. They’ve done one helluva job facing these Mercs but…there’s hundreds of their enemy waiting to attack.

“Garrus?” She murmurs. He’s at his post on the other end of the window, waiting. “Promise me something.”

He glances at her, helmet obscuring his expression. “Anything.”

“You still owe me a lot.” She’s glad for her helmet because she can’t smile. After faking emotions for so long, her body just can’t do it anymore. “So if you get to heaven before me, make sure I’m on the list. Slip the guy some credits if you have to.”

Garrus abandons his post to come to her, taking her hand between both of his. “I can do that. Can you reciprocate, if we all go to the same heaven?”

“Didn’t even think Turians believed in heaven. But yeah, I can do that.”

“When this over, we can compare beliefs.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “If you survive without me…find my family on Palaven. Gaius, Aula and Solana Vakarian. Tell them about me. About what we did here.”

“I will.” She brings their hands against her chest, bending her head towards them. “For me…tell Zaeed he’s the best father-figure-slash-pimp a girl could have.”

He chuckles and pulls her into his embrace, hands resting on the small of her back. “Got it. Is that…is that enough for a proper goodbye?”

“Not yet.” She takes off her helmet and then his. And then pulls him down into a kiss. His arms tighten around her till they’re as close as armor will allow. When it ends, she feels like everything is tingling. “ _That_ is a proper goodbye.”

“Well…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I know Humans like to say and hear certain words. Turians don’t much but-“

“Fuck.” She pulls out of his arms and points down the bridge. “They’re sending down another wave. It looks like the final push. We should-“

“I love you, Shepard.”

“-get into position. What?” She swings her rifle onto her shoulder to take down a handful or freelancers. Had she just heard him right?

“I said I-wait.” He puts a hand on her arm to stop her from lining up another shot. He whispers, “Well I’ll be damned.”

“…Because you love me?” She darts a glance at him. Shit, they both need their helmets.

“No,” he breathes and points to a woman in white and pink armor. Two soliders in black and white follow. “That’s Commander Williams. Back from the dead.”

* * *

Commander Ashley Williams is alive with two Cerberus operatives at her side.  If Garrus wasn’t so damn certain it was her, Shepard would declare the woman a fraud. 

“Ash,” Garrus smiles as he slumps onto a crate, leaning on his rifle. Trying to pose like a badass even with his fatigue evident. Shepard feels it too as she slumps onto a bench. “I thought you were dead.”

“I was,” the Commander replies. Her smile is warm as she looks at Garrus. “It’s a really long story. You’re Archangel?”

He chuckles. “It’s a really long story. Glad you came to rescue us Ash.”

The word “us” makes the Cerberus operatives—a man named Jacob, a woman named Miranda—frown.

“Rescue and recruit you.” William glances at Shepard, lips pursing together. “I’m putting together a team. Whole colonies are being cleared out and we think the Collectors are behind it.”

Garrus nods. “Is it dangerous?”

“You could call it a suicide mission.” She holds out a hand, her smile is gone. A serious, soldierly expression is in its place. “Can I count you in, Garrus?”

“Two things first.” Garrus takes a moment to peer through his rifle. After a moment he sets it back down, satisfied that the runway is clear. “First, you help us face down these Mercs.”

“I planned on it,” Williams nods.

“And second…” Garrus glances at Shepard. “My partner comes with me.”

The fear building inside Shepard dissipates. And then revives when Jacob says, “That’s a bad idea, Commander. It sets a precedent for future squad recruits to bring their friends on board.”

“He has a point,” says Miranda with a nod. “Though we weren’t prepared for this. The dossier mentioned no partner. Only a massacre-“

“Shepard and I are a package deal,” Garrus interrupts, looking straight at Shepard. She feels the force of his gaze down to her toes. “Where she goes, I go.”

“Thank you,” says Shepard. Her voice sounds raspy and she clears her throat. “I’ll pull my own weight, Commander.”

Williams says nothing for a few moments. At last she turns to the operatives. “I can’t do this mission without Garrus. So if he insists we bring his partner on board, she comes on board.”

 “It’s a mistake,” says Jacob.

“I’ve made my decision.” Williams looks at Jacob with her stern expression until he looks away. Satisfied, she turns to Shepard and Garrus. “Welcome to the Normandy you two. Now let’s take care of these Mercs.”

* * *

When the shutters blocking off the exits are in jeopardy, Williams takes her squad to re-seal them. Shepard and Garrus focus on the frontal assault. Covering each other when one needs to reload.  They’re quiet except to call out warnings to each other. Shepard can’t afford to get distracted. Even if Garrus just admitted he loves her.

Especially if he just admitted he loves her.

“Damnit,” Garrus swears. “Ash, how close are you to sealing those doors?”

“Almost there,” William’s voice crackles over both their comm. links. “They’ve got Mercs with flamethrowers everywhere.”

“Yeah?” Shepard looks ahead. Feels her hands shake before she steadies them. “Well Garm’s heading our way and he hates both of us.”

“Just sit tight and hold your position. We’ll be there soon.”

Right. There’s a Krogan with a grudge heading for their base and she’s supposed to sit tight? Shepard’s not about to follow orders. The Commander can reprimand her later.

“Garrus, focus on his men.” She changes out her gun for the assault rifle. “I’ll keep Garm distracted until it’s just us versus him.”

“That’s reckless, Shepard.” Garrus reaches out and grips her shoulder. “I think he hates you more than he hates me.”

“Good. It will keep him off-balance.” She pats his hand. “I’ll be fine. I told you I wouldn’t die.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He sighs and releases her. “Remember it.”

“Yeah yeah. I…love you too. Aim well.” She makes for the stairs before he can react. But she hears him calling.

“Right! Because now I’m not at all too flustered to shoot straight.”

Beneath the laugh in his voice is fear. She can feel it too, as she rushes downstairs.

Garm is charging into the base, nostrils flaring, gun ready. Shepard crouches behind the stair railing. Focuses on keeping her breathing even. Making sure her gun is fully loaded.

“Get ready Archangel!” Garm shouts. “I’m coming for you.”

Shepard vaults over the railing, landing in a crouch. Snarls, “Try going through me first, you sonuva bitch.”

Garm opens fire with a roar and she tumbles out of the way behind a barricade. She inputs the command for an incineration blast. It catches him as he’s rushing towards her. He staggers back.

“Enjoy this Shepard,” Garm grunts. He must recognize her voice. “Because when I’m done with you, there will be nothing left to whore out.”

She opens fire, bracing her elbows as the shots pour from the assault rifle. Around them, Blood Pack soldiers fall as Garrus does his work. While Garm reloads his gun, she vaults again over her cover. “You were a fucking lousy lay, Garm.”

The Krogan charges. Closer. Closer still. So close that she can smell his rancid breath. Then she cloaks herself and dances out of his path. Garm goes flying over the barricade.

She makes the mistake of laughing. He twists around on the ground and fires, catching her shoulder with a concussive round. Shepard falls, the cloak giving out. He fires again and she rolls out of the way. For a giant mass of muscle, he’s damn quick. Garm lifts his foot to stomp her and she somersaults backwards onto her knees. Opens fire on his exposed face.

Garm endures the hits and fires back, grazing her helmet. Another concussive round to her shoulder _again_ and she can’t hold back the yelp. He bares his teeth, pleased. He’s fucking pleased. Bastard. Shepard gets to her feet and backs up into the empty medi-gel dispenser on the wall.

She’s got one gel left on her. And she’s beyond second thoughts. Garm is getting too close. Shepard lunges forward, flinging the gel onto his exposed eyes.

Garm howls, anguished as the gel burns his eyes, tries to knit flesh between skin and eyelids. Shepard reloads and fires and fires until Garm isn’t flailing anymore. He’s on the ground, writhing in agony.

Shepard presses the barrel of her gun against his forehead. Garm lunges forward, clawing at her armor. She stands her ground, holding onto her balance while she fires off the last gunshot Garm will ever hear.

* * *

Williams and her team return as Garrus finishes off the last of Garm’s group. They reconvene upstairs, cataloguing wounds and readying for the next wave.

“Only Blue Suns left,” Garrus murmurs.

“We’re almost there,” says the Commander. She sounds like the galaxy’s savior should. Calm, resolute, strong. “How’re you holding up?”

“Not…great, Ash,” he admits. He’s leaning on his gun again. Everything about him seems to droop. “Doesn’t matter though. I’ll still send those Suns to hell.”

Williams recoils a little. Shepard remembers the naïve Turian she met those months ago. That was the Garrus the Commander knew before she died. Or before she’d been presumed dead. He’s still there but Omega has hardened him like a callus.

“Just as long as you don’t follow them,” says Shepard. She grips the back of one of the benches to steady herself. “I hope they didn’t fix their-“

The sound of the Blue Suns’ gun ship dashes their hopes. Shepard throws herself behind cover. Williams does the same, dragging Garrus with her. Over the noise, Shepard thinks she hears Williams. Something about having sabotaged the ship. The Commander produces a grenade launcher and sets herself up.

The ship is tilting from side to side. Williams’ handiwork. Over the ship’s radio, Tarak roars, “Archangel! You think you can mess with the Blue Suns?”

“Fucker,” Shepard hisses and starts shooting. The end is so close that she’s waiting to wake up. Everything—William’s apparent resurrection, Shepard killing Garm—seems too good to exist.

Then the gunship starts to falter. Shepard and Garrus rise from their crouches to pour the last thermal clips into making the Suns pay. She can see Williams standing with them to fire.

Shepard’s whispering ten names as she holds down the trigger.

The gunship fires one last rocket. Reality, or the dream they’re in, slows as it heads for Garrus and Williams. Shepard opens her mouth to warn them.

Garrus shoves Williams out of the way.

The rocket hits.

Garrus is on the ground. Blue, viscous blood pools around him. Shepard watches the edges spread across the floor. Someone is screaming. As she rushes to him, she realizes that it’s _her_ crying out Garrus’ name. And she can’t stop as she watches him bleed out. 


	12. Chapter 12

They’re kept in the Normandy’s comm. room. Shepard sits, Commander Williams paces, Miranda stands. A floor below, a Human doctor and a Salarian scientist are saving Garrus.

Or trying to.

The scent of coffee wafts over Shepard before she notices Jacob Taylor, holding a white mug before her. She accepts and takes a moment to inhale the aroma. It’s the real stuff, made from real beans. Not that instant powder the Terminus systems get. A gulp scalds her tongue but also brings feeling back into her body.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” he says. The tone is brusque, at odds with the kinder words. Probably doesn’t realize how he sounds. “When I vetoed bringing you on. It was nothing personal and we would have made sure you were safe-“

“But it’s a terrible precedent?” Shepard hazards a smile. “I get it. It wouldn’t work out if all your crew started bringing family.”

Jacob nods, tension leaving his stern features. “Exactly. And we have other squad members to recruit. I can’t say I mind how it worked out though. Hate to see a Human on Omega.”

“Huh.” Shepard lifts her eyebrows. “Kinda sucks for anyone there not named Aria T’loak. Not just Humans.”

“Well yes. Just that-“

The door opens and she looks up, hoping for Garrus or a doctor. It’s neither but just as welcome.

“I almost didn’t believe it,” says Zaeed. He pulls her up by the shoulders and grips her tight to him. Hot coffee sloshes onto the ground, just missing her hands. He lets go quick. Never one for big displays of affection, her Zaeed. “Then I heard they had the goddamn Archangel in the Med Bay.”

“This is the Cerberus mission you talked about?” She laughs. What else can she do? “Well that’s one helluva coincidence. Why didn’t you come with Williams to save my ass?”

“No one’ll tell you anything on this ship. Especially not Cerberus.” He directs a glower at Miranda who just shrugs. “If I’d known…”

“Know each other?” Jacob asks. Williams stands away with Miranda, watching the exchange.

“You could say that,” says Shepard. She bets Miranda knows the truth of it. If they have some kind of “dossier” on Garrus, they have one on Zaeed and all his dealings. Hard to tell if the woman will get judgmental about it. Shepard can’t discern anything from the woman’s closed off posture.

“They say your Turian’s in bad shape.” Zaeed sits down. Shepard seats herself next to him. “I hope he makes it.”

“He will,” she replies, the words sharp. They survive. It’s what they do. And Shepard isn’t facing the galaxy without Garrus.

They wait.

Shepard sets the coffee aside after a few sips. It goes cold while she sits and dozes. No one else enters the room besides Jacob, who comes in and out with messages for Commander Williams. He glances at Shepard with an interest that used to mean incoming credits. It seems like a thousand years before now.

The door opens at last. Her heart lurches when Garrus steps in. His armor is chipped and charred. His right mandible, the one he always nuzzles her with, is ragged. He’s never looked so damn beautiful.

“Garrus,” she whispers, rushing to him. Williams, about to go to Garrus herself, pauses.

Shepard throws her arms around his neck and yanks him down into her kiss. Jacob gasps and when she pulls away, Williams’ jaw is skimming the ground.

“Careful,” Garrus groans. “I’m a little beat-up.”

“Yeah?” She keeps her grip around him. “I didn’t notice.”

“Right.” Garrus sighs and puts his forehead to hers. The gesture makes her chest feel like someone’s crushing it. “Seriously though, how bad is it?”

“Hell Garrus,” Shepard smirks and touches the scars with the edge of her fingers. The breath stills in her lungs for a moment. “Does it matter? I only ever wanted you for your body.”

He laughs hard out of relief and then winces. “Ow, damnit. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Excuse the interruption,” Miranda says, tapping her foot. They turn to her like guilty children, muffling their chuckles. “But since Garrus is up and about, we should brief you about the mission and your duties.”

Williams lifts her hand. “Tomorrow, Miranda. They both deserve some rest.”

“Thanks Ash.” Garrus leans on Shepard and she puts an arm around him. “Mind if I bunk in the Main Battery? The guns probably need calibrating.”

“Already had a cot put in there. Should I…have another put in?”

“Not necessary,” Shepard smiles. “Though I’ll let you know if we need two to push together. That all?”

“I suppose,” says Miranda. “Though-“

“Good because I’m ready to drop. See you all soon,”

They make their stumbling escape to the elevator. Before the doors close, Shepard has her arms around him, kissing him again and then apologizing because it’s still painful for his face.

He rests his chin atop her head, running his hands up and down her arms. “Let’s just stay like this.”

Shepard laughs into his damaged chestplate. “Ugh, look at us. We’re the picture of sap.”

“I like sap.” Garrus nuzzles her with the unscathed side of his face. “And if telling your Turian that you love him right before running into battle isn’t sap…”

“Shut up,” she whacks his arm. “You said it first.”

“Well, it’s what I do. And what you do now, apparently.”

“Learned from the best. Don’t worry.” She smirks. “I’ll be back to normal after I get some sleep.”

The elevator doors whoosh open and they step out. Like the comm. center, the crew deck is gleaming and modern. She can feel the tremor of the Normandy’s workings but its running quiet. “Nice digs.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Hope you like it. Someday we’ll go on a real vacation.”

Shepard rises on tiptoes and touches her lips to his mouth. “As long as you’re around, I don’t give a damn where we go.”

“I’m holding you to that. No joke.” He slides his hand into hers and squeezes. “Ready to check out our new home?”

“Yeah,” she squeezes back. “I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is: the end! Sorry to make you wait a little for that last chapter.
> 
> Sequel will be up soon, it needs a little polishing first.
> 
> Thank you again for all your lovely feedback :)


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